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Before it was over； Pharaun lost track of how many battles he and his rades had fought。 He only knew they kept winning them； through sunotperior tactics more than anything else； and that despite their losses； their numbers kept growing； swelled by garrisons that had fought their way out of their castles。
Occasionally the ragtag army came upon a section of the city that had already been pacified； and though he never caught so much of a glimpse of them； Pharaun knew Bregan D'aerthe was fighting in concert with his own pany。 It was as much a fort as anything could be on this fierce and desperate night。
Finally the army from Tier Breche encountered an equally impressive force under Matron Baenre's mand。 The two panies united and marched on Narbondellyn； where several bugbears with some degree of martial experience had striven to organize thousands of their fellow under…creatures into a force capable of withstanding their masters' wrath。
The great stone pillar of Narbondel shone above fighting that was wild and chaotic。 Miraculously； partway through； the upper reaches of the cavern began to storm； allaying Pharaun's greatest fear。 An hour later； the drow swept in and annihilated the opposing force； and thus they took their homeland back。
In the aftermath； the wizard walked through the downpour； looking this way and that。 Strands of wet hair clung to his forehead； and his boots squelched。 As a mage； he had to concede the storm was a glorious achievenotment； to say nothing of the salvation of Menzoberranzan； but it was a pity his colleagues couldn't have acplished the same thing without wreaknoting havoc on everyone's appearance and chilling them to the bone。
The Mizzrym grinned。 Neither Quenthel nor Triel was anywhere around。 He'd taken direction from them all night； willingly enough； but he wanted to mand the finale of this extraordinary affair himself； and their absence gave him an excuse to proceed without consulting them。
He cast about once more and spied Welverin Freth。 The capable weapons master of the Nineteenth House； Welverin excelled at bat denotspite the seeming impediment of a prosthetic silver leg； and had fought in tandem with Pharaun several times during the night。 Currently he was huddled in a doorway conferring with two of his lieutenants。
〃Weapons Master！〃 Pharaun called。
Welverin looked up and gave him a nod。 〃How can I help you； Master Mizzrym？〃
〃How would you like to help me kill the creature responsible for this innotsurrection？〃
The warrior's eyes narrowed and he said； 〃Is this another of your jokes？〃
〃By no means。 But if we're going to do this； we'd better do it quickly； before our quarry slinks away into the Underdark。 I trust that you and your troops can ride aerial mounts？〃
Pharaun gestured to the giant bats； created by some enchanter； penned in a nearby latticework dome。 It seemed a petty miracle they'd survived the rebellion unsuffocated and unburned。
〃Where do they keep the tack？〃 Welverin asked； peering at the cage。
C h a p t e r
T W E N T Y
F 0 U R
Water dripping from the hem of his cloak； Pharaun found that the layout of the renegades' fortress wasn't quite so perplexing when he wasn't dodging hunters and suffering the brain…jangling aftereffects of a psionic assault。 The empty； echoing rooms and corridors still seemed just as ominous； however； just as fitting an abode for wraiths and malenotdictions。
The Mizzrym watched Welverin and the other warriors of House Freth to see if the place was unsettling them。 It didn't look like it。 Perhaps they were too brave。 Or perhaps the fresh；