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hiped； and her clergy ruled in the temporal sense as well as the spiritual one。
For some reason； Ryld found the persistence of the motif vaguely oppressive； so he shifted his attention to other details。 If a drow had good eyes； he could make out the frigid depths of the lake called Donigarten at the narrow eastern end of the vault。 Cattlelike beasts called rothe and the goblin slaves who herded them lived on an island in the center of the lake。
And there was Narbondel itself； of course。 It was the only piece of unworked stone remaining on the cavern floor； a thick； irregular column extending all the way to the ceiling。 At the start of every day； the Archmage of Menzoberranzan cast a spell into the base of it； heating it until the rock glowed。 Since the radiance rose through the stone at a constant rate； its progress enabled the residents of the city to tell the time。
In their way； the Master of MeleeMagthere supposed； he and Pharaun were； if nowhere near as grand a sight as the vista before them； at least a peculiar one by virtue of the contrasts between them。 With his slender build； graceful manner； foppish； elegant attire； and intricate coiffure； the Mizzrym mage epitomized what a sophisticated noble and wizard should be。 Ryld； on the other hand was an oddity。 He was huge for a member of his sex； bigger than many females； with a burly； broadshouldered frame better suited to a brutish human than a dark elf。 He pounded his strangeness by wearing a dwarven breastplate and vambraces in preference to light； supple mail。 The armor sometimes caused others to eye him askance； but he'd found that it maximized his effectiveness as a warrior； and that； he'd always believed； was what really mattered。
Ryld and Pharaun walked to the edge of Tier Breche and sat down with their legs dangling over the sheer dropoff。 They were only a few yards from the head of the staircase that connected the Academy with the city below； and at the top of those steps； beside the twin pillars； a pair of sentries—lastyear students of MeleeMagthere—stood watch。 Ryld thought that he and Pharaun were distant enough for privacy if they kept their voices low。
Low； but not silent； curse it。 Ever the sensualist； the mage sat savoring the panorama below him； obviously prolonging his contemplation well past the point where Ryld's mouth had begun to tighten with impatience； and never mind that on the walk up； he'd admired the view himself。
〃We drow don't love one another； except in the carnal sense；〃 Pharaun remarked at last； 〃but I think one could almost love Menzoberranzan itself； don't you？ Or at least take a profound pride in it。〃
Ryld shrugged。 〃If you say so。〃
〃You sound less than rhapsodic。 Feeling morose again today？〃
〃I'm all right。 Better； at least； now that I see you still alive。〃
〃You assumed Gromph had executed me？ Does my offense seem so grievous； then？ Have you never annihilated a single specimen of our tender young cadets？〃
〃That depends on how you look at it；〃 Ryld replied。 〃bat training is inherently dangerous。 Accidents happen； but no one has ever questioned that they were accidents occurring during the course of MeleeMagthere's legitimate business。 The goddess knows； I never lost seven in a single hour； two of them from Houses with seats on the Council。 How does such a thing happen？〃
〃I needed seven assistants with a degree of magical expertise to help me perform the summoning ritual。 Had I called upon fullfledged wizards； they would have joined the experiment as equal partners。 They would have emerged from the ritual possessed of the same newly discovered secrets as myself； equally able to conjure and control the Sarthos demon。 Naturally I wished to avoid such a sharing； so I opted to use apprentices instead。〃
Pharaun grinned and continued； 〃In retrospect； I must admit that it may not have been a good idea。 The fiend didn't even require seven heartbeats to smash them all。〃
An updraft wafted past Ryld's face； carrying the constant murmur of the metropolis below。 He caught its scent as well； a plex odor made of cooking smoke； incense； perfume； the stink of unwashed thralls； and a thousand other things。
〃Why perform such a dangerous ritual in the first place？〃 he asked。
Pharaun smiled as if it was a silly question。 Perhaps it was。
〃To bee more powerful； of course；〃 the wizard answered。 〃At present； I'm one of the thirty most puissant mages in the city。 If I controlled the Sarthos demon； I'd be one of the five。 Perhaps even the first； mightier than dreary old Gromph himself。〃
I see。
Ambition was an essential part of the drow character； and Ryld sometimes envied Pharaun his stillpassionate investment in the struggle for status。 The warrior supposed that he himself had achieved the pinnacle of his ambitions when he became one of the lesser masters of MeleeMagthere； for certainly he； born a moner； could never climb any higher。 From that day forward； he'd stopped peering hungrily upward and concentrated on looking down； to guard against all those who wished to kill him in hopes of ascending to his position。
Pharaun was a Master of Sorcere as Ryld was a Master of MeleeMagthere； but perhaps； being of noble blood； Pharaun really did aspire to assassinate the formidable Gromph Baenre and seize his office。 Even if he didn't； wizards； by the nature of their intricate and clandestine art； maintained a rivalry that enpassed more than who was a master； who was chief wizard in a great House； and who was neither。 They also cared about such things as who could know the most esoteric secrets； could conjure the deadliest specter； or see most clearly into the future。 In fact； they cared so deeply that they occasionally sought to murder each other and plunder one another's spell books even when such hostilities ran counter to the interests of their Houses； severing an alliance or disrupting a negotiation。
〃Now；〃 Pharaun said； reaching inside the elegant folds of his piwafwi and producing a silver flask； 〃I'll have to turn my back on the Sarthos demon for a while。 I hope the poor behemoth won't be lonely without me。〃
He unscrewed the bottle； took a sip； and passed the container to Ryld。
Ryld hoped the flask didn't contain wine or an exotic liqueur。 P