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darkness ahead, and an occasional cross-draft rippled through the thick white hair that fell in wavy locks to her waist. She was dressed for travel in boots and breeches fashioned from thin, supple leather, a shirt of quilted silk, and a vest of fine chain mail. A three-foot, barbed-tip spear rested on her shoulder, and in her free hand she carried a small bolo, which she twirled in elaborate patterns as she walked.
    Behind her, well out of reach of the whirling weapon, trudged a young drow couple. The female wore the insignia of House Shobalar, a lesser clan known for the rare female wizards it produced. The other drow was an exceptionally handsome male, elaborately dressed but for the single-braided hair that marked him as a commoner. Both of these drow carried spears identical to Liriel’s, and they darted wary glances here and there as they maneuvered through the field of small, sharp stalagmites that thrust upward from the rocky floor.
    The tunnel was narrow, barely wide enough for three or four drow to walk abreast. Countless eons past, trickling water had carved a series of furrows into the rocky walls, leaving long, narrow stone ridges rising up on both sides of the tunnel. The passage resembled the rib cage of some giant beast, and Liriel’s companions found it more than a little unnerving. They kept firm grip on their weapons and silently cursed the impulse that had led them out of the relative safety of Menzoberranzan. The Underdark was unpredictable and full of danger. Few ventured out into it without considerable strength of arms and magic. Yet when Liriel Baenre issued an invitation, how could they refuse?
    Liriel was by far the most popular female in their set, a group of wealthy young drow both noble and common who pursued pleasure and intrigue with typical drow passion. She was younger than most of them—still short of her fortieth birthday, which placed her in the midst of the long, tumultuous period of drow adolescence—and she possessed the fresh beauty similar to that of a human girl not yet seventeen. She also enjoyed the wealth and station of a House Baenre noble. But many of the city’s young drow possessed wealth, status, and beauty. Liriel was exceptional for her ready laugh and a zest for life that was rare in grim Menzoberranzan. Admittedly eccentric in her tastes, she preferred the pursuit of adventure and magical knowledge to social intrigue. Still, few could deny her quirky charm. Many young drow vied for the chance to share her adventures. Those who survived could count on enhanced social standing, as well as a few good stories to share at that evening’s round of parties.
    Even with this pleasing prospect before them, Liriel’s companions grew more uneasy with every step. The utter darkness of the passage did not inconvenience them in the slightest, but the silence deeply unnerved them. In Menzoberranzan, the noise of the city melted into a constant, spell-muffled murmur spiced by an occasional scream. In these tunnels their quiet footsteps thudded in their ears with a hollow, echoing sound, like stones falling into a deep well. Liriel, of course, walked like a shadow, thanks to her enchanted elven boots and two dozen years’ experience with such exploration. Her gait was light and eager, her eyes fixed on the adventure ahead.
    Yet Liriel was not unaware of her companions’ discomfort. She knew Bythnara Shobalar well; the two of them had trained together from a young age. Gromph had apparently tired of his precocious daughter soon after adopting her, and sent her to House Shobalar to be fostered and trained by that clan’s female wizards. A childhood rivalry had sprung up between Liriel and Bythnara that had followed them throughout the years. Liriel took this in stride, and in fact found it rather enjoyable. It sharpened both their efforts and added a necessary spice to their friendship. Despite their mutual interest in magic, the two had little in common. Bythnara did not share