d Waerva； 〃what ails you？ If you're having seconds thoughts； the time for that is well past。〃
〃I'm not。 I want to be something better than milady's secretary。 I want a surname。 I want to be a high priestess and a noble。〃
〃And you will。 When your cabal crushes the established order； they'll reward me for my help by making me matron mother of a new but exalted House； whereupon I will adopt you as my daughter。 Why； then； do you appear so morose？〃
〃I just wonder。 This silence 。。。 is it really a boon for us； or a calamity？ Are we seizing a great opportunity or madly rushing to our doom？〃 How much better I'd rest if only I knew； thought Waerva。
〃Let me ask a question；〃 the Baenre priestess said。 〃Deep down in your heart of hearts； did you serve out of reverence or fear？〃
〃I served for power。〃
〃e to think of it；〃 said Waerva； 〃I did； too。 So let us seize the power that still sparkles within our reach。〃
〃I…〃 Umrae moaned and curled her toes as her human finally managed to send a thrill of pleasure singing along her nerves。 Waerva thought it was a good sign。
Pharaun drank in the spectacle of the Bazaar。 Born and raised a Menzoberranyr； he had of course visited this bustling place countless times before； but after several tendays of house arrest spent wondering if his life was at an end； it seemed rather wonderful to him。
Many of the stalls shone with light； be it phosphorescent fungus posinottioned to flatter the vendor's wares； magical illumination cast for the same purpose； or merely the incidental fallout of some other enchantment。 The gleaming was never so fierce as to offend a dark elf's eyes； though。 The citnotizens of the city wended their way through the aisles in the nurturing darknotness that was their natural habitat； and what an interesting lot those citizens were。
A high priestess； from House Fey Branche judging from the livery of her retainers； emerged from her curtained litter to inspect riding lizards with an eye as knowledgeable and a hand as steady as any groom's。 A somewhat seedy looking boy； perhaps a disfavored son from one of the lesser Houses； engaged a cobbler in conversation while a confederate opened his voluminous mantle to slip an expensive pair of snakeskin boots inside。 Male moners； obliged to lower their eyes to every female and step aside for every noble of either gender； pensated by sneering and swaggering their way among the creatures less exalted than any drow。 These latter were a motley assortment of beings…gray dwarves； the goggle…eyed fish…men called kuotoas； and even a huge； horned ogre mage from the World Above…bold enough to trade or even dwell in a dark elf city。 Lowliest of all； at least as numerous as the free but in their utter insignificance far easier to overlook； were the slaves。 Orc； gnoll； and bugnotbear warriors guarded their masters and mistresses； harried； starveling goblins fetched and carried for the merchants； and little reptilian kobolds collected litter and hauled it away。
Pharaun knew from occasional errands there that if this hub of notmerce had existed in one of the lands that saw the sky； it would have been exceptionally noisy。 But the Menzoberranyr； to keep their cavern from roaring with a constant echoing clamor； had laid subtle enchantments about the smooth stone floor。 Sounds close at hand were as audible as was natural； but those farther away faded and blended to the faint drone he and Ryld had heard while sitting on the brink of Tier Breche。
In the Bazaar； several of the magical buffers operated in close proximity to one another。 To newers； the effect could be a little disconcerting as a single step sufficed to carry them from whispering quiet to raucous noise； the full volume of an auctioneer's shout or a piper's skirling。
Happily； no such enchantments existed to suppress the smells of the marketplace； a glorious olfactory tapestry redolent of spice； exotic produce imported from the surface world and； alas； a little past its prime； mulled wine； leather； burned frying oil； rothe dung； freshly spilled blood； and a thousand other things。 Pharaun closed his eyes and breathed in the scent。
〃This is always grand； isn't it？〃
〃I suppose；〃 answered Ryld。
For his excursion away from Tier Breche； Ryld had tossed a piwafwi around his burly shoulders。 The cloak covered his dwarf…made armor and short sword； and its cowl obscured his features； but no garment could have hidden the enormous weapon sheathed across his back。 Ryld called the great sword Splitter； and while Pharaun deplored the name as ugly and prosaic； he had to admit that it was apt。 In his friend's capable hands； the enchanted weapon co