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She pointed at one of the darkened tu
Naxil turned away from his tu
Leliana hesitated. She glanced at the third exit. Was it wishful thinking, or was the floor in front of it slightly less slick? She flicked a hand: That way. If they didn't find a safe spot soon, she'd be forced to teleport them out of here.
She had to run nearly doubled over to avoid the strands of ooze hanging from the ceiling. Acid splattered her back, dribbled in between the links in her mail, and burned its way to her skin. Other drops struck the back of her head. Naxil slipped on the acid-slick floor, nearly falling. Leliana grabbed his arm and dragged him into the tu
A few paces in, the acid dribbles stopped. Though the stone here was also cracked, the gray ooze didn't seem to like the dry heat. The farther up the tu
Naxil's free hand strayed to his shoulder, fingers gingerly touching an acid burn in his leather armor. He winced.
"Have you been taught the healer's prayer?" Leliana asked softly.
Naxil nodded. "A lesser version of it."
"Use it."
Together they sang their prayers-softly, their voices mere whispers in the darkness. When they were done, Naxil sighed deeply and flexed his shoulder, stretching the healed skin. "What are the battle-mistress's orders?"
"Rylla didn't answer my sending. Looks like we're on our own."
Naxil glanced back the way they'd come. "I think I know where we are."
"Oh?"
"Does the name Trobriand mean anything to you?"
Leliana shook her head.
"He was an apprentice of Halaster-the wizard who used magic to carve out much of Undermountain."
"Him, I've heard of," Leliana said in a wry voice. Among the drow, Halaster was a name often followed by an oath. Centuries ago-long before Qilue had founded the Promenade-the "mad mage" and his followers had waged war upon the drow of Undermountain, slaughtering hundreds, if not thousands. Halaster had harassed the drow with his spells through the long centuries since. When the mad mage had died four years ago, Qilue had led the priestesses of the Promenade in a song of rejoicing.
"I've been thinking about the construct we followed here," Naxil continued. "Trobriand was known as the 'metal mage.' He was famous for his constructs. The portal may have deposited us in one of his sanctums. That would explain why the crab made for it."
"How do you know so much about ancient wizards?"
Naxil's eyes crinkled. "My father was a sorcerer. An alchemist. I was training as his apprentice, before I joined the Masked Lady's dance."
Leliana's eyebrows rose. Naxil was a boy of hidden talents. "Do you know any spells?"
"Only a couple of cantrips-and not terribly useful ones. I can inscribe objects with an indelible House glyph, and"-his fingers twitched, and his voice suddenly shifted to a point behind her-"I can shift sounds."
"Not bad," Leliana said. "So why did you give up wizardry?"
His expression flattened. "I got tired of the beatings."
A silent understanding passed between them. Leliana had been raised in Menzoberranzan, the daughter of a noble House. She too had learned early on that prestige and punishment walked hand in hand. Her back was clear now, but for years she'd worn the scars of her mother's lash. When she'd borne a daughter of her own, Leliana vowed to give her a better life.
She wrenched her mind back to the present. "Expensive, to build constructs out of gold," she commented.
"Practical," Naxil countered. "Gold resists acid-that's one of the ways you can distinguish it from the coarser metals. The only thing that will dissolve it is aqua regia. Trobriand obviously intended that the crab survive the oozes, once it had used the portal."
Leliana glanced up the tu
They made their way down the tu
The farther they went, the brighter the glow became. The air grew hotter and drier. Leliana breathed warily, alert for the first signs of lightheadedness. If there was lava ahead, as she suspected, the air in the tu
They came to a place where the passage bent sharply. Leliana motioned for Naxil to halt and peered around the corner. The tu
The gap was too wide to jump. She decided they'd risked enough for one day. Time to get out of here and report what they'd discovered.
"Touch my back," she whispered to Naxil. "We're leaving."
He did so, and she sang a hymn of return, but the sudden lurch of slipping sideways through the dimensions didn't come. The prayer should have conveyed them both to the Misty Forest shrine: her designated sanctuary. It didn't.
Naxil waited. His eyes held a silent question.
Leliana shook her head. "Trobriand must have warded his sanctum against teleportation. I'll try something else. Keep watch."
She stepped away from Naxil, sheathed her sword, and hummed a wordless prayer. With one hand touching her holy symbol, she turned slowly. Which way? she asked silently. Which way is the Promenade? She concentrated on its most prominent feature: the statue of Eilistraee that had been erected at the site of Qilue's victory over Ghaunadaur.
The magic took hold, halting her. Her extended hand jerked straight up.
"By all that dances," she exclaimed. "The Promenade is directly above us!"
Leliana nodded to herself. That explained how the tu
Leliana whispered her thanks to Eilistraee for setting her feet on this dance. She and Naxil had gathered important information this day, information the high priestess would want to hear. The oozes Qilue and her companions had driven from Undermountain and sealed in the Pit centuries ago were once again on the loose.
Leliana lowered her hand. The good news was that she and Naxil were still somewhere within Undermountain. Assuming this cavern system wasn't completely isolated-a dead end-they might yet be able find their way back to the Promenade. She prayed again. "Eilistraee," she whispered. "Show me the path. Lead me back to the Promenade."