the dwarves； duergar； deep gnomes； and illithids had not。
What remained unclear was why Triel believed as she did。 Who had put the idea in her head； and what did that person have to gain by holding Faeryl in the city？
Jaw tight； the emissary stifled the impulse to confront Triel about the latter's true concerns。 She knew she wouldn't be able to draw the Baenre into an genuine consideration of the allegations against her。 Taking a manotlicious pleasure in the play…acting； Triel would simply feign shock that Faeryl doubted her trust and good will。
Indeed； if Faeryl wanted to avoid further humiliation； all she could do was go along with the pretense。
She smiled and said； 〃As I said before； Matron Mother； your concern honors me； and I will of course obey you。 I'll remain in the City of Spinotders and savor its many delights。〃
〃Good；〃 said Triel； and Faeryl imagined the words that remained unnotspoken： We'll know where to find you when it's time for your arrest。
〃May I have your permission to withdraw？ I see there are many others seeking the benefit of your wisdom。〃
〃Go； with my blessing。〃
Faeryl offered her obeisance； exited the hall； and walked through the great mound that was the Baenre citadel until she found herself alone and unobserved in a short connecting passageway。 She took the rolled maps of the Underdark； the charts she had imagined that she and Triel might connotsult together； from beneath her arm。 Teeth bared in a snarl； she smashed them repeatedly against the wall until the stiff parchment cylinder flopped limp and battered in her hands。
Gromph and Quenthel strolled about the plateau watching the apprennottices and masters of Sorcere perform the rituals。 The sound of chanting and the pungent scent of incense filled the air； along with various conjured phenomena： flashes of light； dancing shadows； demonic faces appearing and disappearing； moaning and crackling。 All to lay a new set of wards about Tier Breche。
Gromph was mildly impressed。 By and large； his minions were doing a good job of it； though they weren't laying any enchantments he couldn't pierce。 In fact； since he was supervising them at their labors； getting past the wards would be easy。
〃I wonder if all this will actually protect us；〃 said Quenthel； scowling； her long skirt rippling in the stray breeze kicked up by someone's incantation。
Gromph was surprised that even after Beradax's attack； she hadn't donned a suit of mail。 Perhaps she thought her frightened novices and priestesses required a show of confidence。
〃It didn't protect us before；〃 hissed one of the annoyingly vocal snakes prising the whip on her belt。
Four of them were twisting this way and that； watching for danger。 The fifth kept its cold eyes staring at Gromph； not； the Archmage was convinced； because his sister suspected him of trying to murder her。 Or rather she did； but not specifically。 She simply had too many viable suspects。 There were subordinates who aspired to be Mistress of Arach…Tinilith； and the myriad foes of House Baenre。 Perhaps it was even Triel seeking to forestall the all but inevitable day when Quenthel would challenge her for preeminence。
〃Enchantments can attenuate with time；〃 said Gromph； honestly enough。
〃The new ones will be stronger。 Strong enough； I trust； to keep you safe in Arach…Tinilith。〃
〃It isn't just the temple at risk；〃 Quenthel snapped。 〃Next time； a demon could attack Sorcere or Melee…Magthere。〃
Don't count on it； Gromph thought； but he said； 〃I understand。〃
〃I've seen enough for now；〃 said the mistress； her scowl deepening。 〃Don't let your males slack off。 I want the defenses plete before you leave to cast your spell into Narbondel。〃
〃Consider it done。〃
Quenthel turned and walked back toward Arach…Tinilith。 The primary entrance to the imposing spider…shaped temple had bee merely an odd…looking hole。 The artisans hadn't yet finished repairing the crumpled adamantine leaves of the gate。 Gromph smiled to think how that must annoy his sister。 Knowing her as he did； he was fairly certain the unfortunotnate metalworkers had already felt the weight of her displeasure。
Well； perhaps they wouldn't have to bear it for much longer。 He finnotgered a small ornament； a black stone clasped in a silver claw dangling over his heart。
Quenthel hadn't asked about the trinket； nor had Gromph expected her to。 He always wore his amulet of eternal youth and the brooch that helped him imbue Narbondel with radiant warmth。 Beyond those two staples； he tended to adorn the Robes of the Archmage with a constantly changing array of charms and talismans； depending on his whim and the particular magic