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acuity； had divined what he was thinking and was urging him to hold to their original intent。 He gave a tiny nod of assent。 He didn't know if Pharaun was making a wise choice； but he did realize he wouldn't even be here listening to this apocnotalyptic talk if his friend hadn't asked for his aid。 When all was said and done； Ryld had descended from Melee…Magthere to help the wizard achieve his ends； and that was what he was going to do。
Pharaun turned to Tsabrak and said； 〃I assume the driders have allied themselves with the conspiracy because the boys promised you a place of honor in the splendid Menzoberranzan to e。 Perhaps they even pledged to find a way to transform you back into a drow。〃
〃Something like that；〃 Tsabrak sneered。 〃Mainly； though； those of us who joined did it for the chance to kill lots and lots of priestesses。〃
〃I can't say I blame you；〃 Pharaun said。 〃Well； gentlemen； your plans are inspiring to say the least。 I'm glad we sought you out。〃
〃So am I；〃 said Ryld。
〃The only things I'm still hazy on；〃 the mage continued； 〃are Syrzan and the Prophet。 One and the same？ I see by your expressions that they are。 Who is 。。。 it really； and what power does it use to so enthrall the goblins？〃
〃I think you're about to find out；〃 Houndaer said。
An instant later； something droned through the air； almost like a noise； but not。 Actually； the sensation existed solely within the mind。 Pharaun turned； and Tsabrak scuttled aside to reveal the robed figure in the doornotway。 Ryld felt a jolt of dismay。 Afraid it was already too late； he sprang up from the bench
C h a p t e r
E I G H T E E N
Off to Faeryl's left stood an iron maiden cast in the form of a tubby jester in cap and bells。 The bells looked real； and would evidently jingle while a victim writhed inside。 The device was open just a crack； not enough to expose the spikes inside。
Straight ahead； a chain and hook dangled from their pulley； fishing for a prisoner to hoist； and a rack waited to stretch one。 To the left； a brazier of coals threw off dazzling heat； and a collection of probes； knives； pincers； and pears hung on their pegs。 Her nemesis； the small male with all the ugly baubles； lounged in that vicinity in an iron chair with shackles attached to the armrests。
That was about as much as the envoy could see while roped naked to a molded calcite post。
She was hungry； thirsty； and sore from standing for hours in one posinottion。 Her bonds chafed her； and her head ached。 However； she had yet to endure one of the genuine agonies this stuffy cellar provided； and she thought she knew why。 Some messenger had instructed the torturers to wait for Triel to arrive before mencing the festivities。
Faeryl had already attempted to converse with the little male and her jailers and failed to elicit a response from either。 She had nothing else to do but struggle to govern her thoughts。 She didn't want to imagine all the things the Baenre might do to her； but she herself had presided over enough excruciations that it was difficult not to envision the possibilities。 She didn't want to dwell on the mass