o yes； we'll usher her into her tomb； regain the godnotdess's approval； and run the academy as we please。〃
She extended her hands。 Drisinil smiled and clasped them despite the twin shooting pains the pressure produced； then she turned to the other females and said； 〃What about the rest of you？ Are you with us？〃
They tendered a ragged chorus of assent。 She guessed that those who doubted she had hit on the way to propitiate Lolth were nonetheless eager to move up in the temple hierarchy； or at least disliked Quenthel。 Maybe they were simply indulging the innate dark elf taste for bloodshed and benottrayal。
Drisinil herself truly did believe she'd contrived the proper metaphysinotcal remedy for their woes but deep down； she was even more excited at the prospect of avenging herself on her torturer。 How could it be otherwise？ For the rest of her life； her self…mutilated hands would announce to any who looked that someone had once defeated and humiliated her。
〃I thank you；〃 she said to the other clerics。 〃Now； let's put our heads tonotgether。 We have much to plan and only a little time before others will start to miss us。〃
And plan they did； whispering； bickering； occasionally grinning at some particularly inventive and vicious suggestion。 Drisinil knew that some if not all of the scheming would e to nothing…it was too connottingent on Quenthel's doing precisely what the plotters wanted exactly when and where they wanted it done…but the effort served to cement their mitment to the conspiracy and to limn at least the bare bones of a strategy。
Finally it was done。 The priestesses started to slip out the way they'd e； one and two at a time。 The more restless stood in a clump around the exit； awaiting their turns。 T'risstree was among them。
Drisinil crossed the floor in as relaxed and casual a manner as she could affect。 She didn't want someone to realize her intent； and； surprised； react in some audible way。
No one did。 All dark elves were actors in that they were liars； and pernothaps she was a better dissembler than most。 She sauntered within arm's reach of T'risstree； took hold of the dirk concealed inside her long； fringed shawl； and drove the blade into the high priestess's spine。 This time； for whatever reason； the stumps of her severed pinkies didn't hurt a bit。 T'risstree's back arched in a spasm of agony； and； to Drisinil's surprise； her teacher tried to flounder around to face her。 Her arm shaking； T'ris…stree lifted the falchion。
Drisinil turned along with the high priestess； keeping behind her。 She grabbed hold of T'risstree's hair； jerked her head back； and sliced open her throat。 The instructor collapsed。 The sword slipped from her fingers and clanked on the floor。
The onlookers gawked。
〃T'risstree T'orgh meant to betray us；〃 Drisinil said。 〃I saw it in her eyes when I took her hands。 We can leave the carcass here for the time being。 With luck； no one will discover it until after Quenthel's death。〃
Either the other conspirators believed her explanation； or； more likely； didn't care that she'd murdered the teacher。 A few congratulated her on her finesse； and； utterly indifferent to the corpse sprawled in their midst； renotsumed their departures。
Drisinil picked up and examined the fallen falchion。 Once Quenthel was slain； it ought to look nice on her wall。
*
Faeryl prowled the rounded； treacherous surfaces at the apex of the amnotbassadorial residence。 She was trying to monitor all four sides of her home； which entailed clambering about with a certain celerity。 Yet she was also trying to hide from anyone who might be peering from the window of a neighboring mansion or up from one of the quiet residential boulevards of prosperous West Wall； and the faster she moved； the more problematic stealth became。 She'd sneaked up there two hours ago； when everyone else thought she was bundling or burning documents； and she still wasn't sure she'd struck the proper balance between the two necessities。
She wished she could have ordered a retainer or two up there to help her keep her vigil； but it would have been ill…advised； considering that any of her minions might be the object of her hunt。
She also wished she had more cover。 Except for a few token walkways and crenellations so small as to be essentially ornamental； the apex of the stalagmite keep was bare of fortifications or even level places to stand。 If Faeryl looked closely； she could see subtle signs that at one time； when the keep had served another purpose； such defenses had existed in abundance； but subsequently； a wizard had melted the ramparts back into the rest of the calcite。 It made sense。 T