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that whenever possible a cautious drow lets his enemies twist for a while, if only to remind them that he can.
    Still, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith had been more than a little displeased, and Jeggred had made another serious attempt at a physical assault. Quenthel had held him back, if reluctantly, and charged the draegloth with guarding the uridezu. They were two of the same: demons on the wrong plane, pressed into the service of drow who were ready to take them back to the Abyss that spawned them. Pharaun let himself sigh at that thought. He knew it was a bad idea on its surface, going to the Abyss, but they had passed up the acceptable a long time before. They were in new territory. They were headed for the Spider Queen herself, and right when Lolth seemed least inclined to greet them.
    Pharaun was sure he wasn’t the only one who had second thoughts about the expedition, even as strenuously as he’d argued for their going forward. For a Master of Sorcere, it was a mission that could make him Archmage of Menzoberranzan. For her part, Quenthel had already achieved the highest post she could hope for.As Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, Quenthel was the spiritual leader of all Menzoberranzan and the second most powerful female in the city. Some would argue that she was indeed more powerful than her sister Triel.
    Of all drow under Faerûn, she would surely be welcomed into Lolth’s domain—assuming there was either a Lolth or a Demonweb Pits at all anymore—but still the high priestess was on edge. Her normally stern countenance had gone nearly rigid, and her movements were jerky and twitching. Any talk of the journey ahead made her pace around the deck, all but oblivious to the lesser demons that often snapped at her or reached out to grab her.
    Even Pharaun, cynical as he was, didn’t want to believe that the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith might be losing her faith.
    The fact that Jeggred also noticed Quenthel’s unease didn’t make the wizard feel any better. The draegloth’s expressions weren’t always easy to read, though the half-demon was the least intellectually capable of the party, but since coming to the Lake of Shadows—perhaps even before—Jeggred had looked at his aunt quite differently. He could see her agitation, though he might have thought it fear, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.
    Pharaun closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the last of the day’s manes went down the ship’s gullet. He felt tired enough to sleep like a human. Without even bothering to cross the deck to the place where he’d set his pack, Pharaun sank to the fleshy planks and sat.
    “Before you slip into Reverie,” Valas Hune said from behind him, “we should discuss practical concerns.”
    Pharaun turned to look at the Bregan D’aerthe scout and offered him a twisted smile.
    “Practical concerns?” the wizard asked. “At this point I’m too tired for any kind of concerns … other than … the … ones that are …”
    Pharaun closed his eyes and shook his head.
    “Are you all right?” the scout asked, his tone comfortably devoid of real concern.
    “My wit has failed me,” Pharaun replied. “I must be tired indeed.”
    The scout nodded.
    “We’ll need supplies,” he said, addressing all four of them.
    Quenthel didn’t look up, and Jeggred only glanced away from the chained demon for a second.
    The draegloth shrugged and said, “I can eat the captain.”
    Pharaun didn’t bother to look at the uridezu for a response, and the demon, sensibly, didn’t offer one.
    “Well, I can’t,” Valas replied. “Neither can the rest of us.”
    “There will be no opportunity to stop along the way?” Danifae asked.
    Pharaun regarded the beautiful, enigmatic battle-captive with a smile and said, “We’ll travel from this lake across the Fringe and into the Shadow Deep. From there to the endless Astral. From there to the Abyss. Any roadhouses along the way will be … unreliable to say the