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orcere…the school of wizardry over which the Archmage presided…but Gromph was reasonably certain that none of the masters of Sorcere susnotpected its existence； accustomed to secret and magical architecture though they were。 The place； lit by everlasting candles like the office below； was well nigh undetectable； even unguessable； because its tenant had set it a little apart from normal space and conventional time。 In some subtle renotspects it existed in the distant past； in the days of Menzoberranzan the Kinless； founder of the city； and in another way； in the remote and unknowable future。 Yet on the level of gross mortal existence； it sat firmly in the presnotent； and Gromph could work his most clandestine magic there secure in the knowledge that it would affect the Menzoberranzan of today。 It was a neat trick； and sometimes he almost regretted killing the seven prisoners； master mages all； who had helped him build the place in exchange； they imagined； for their freedom。 They had been genuine artists； but there was no point in creating a hidden refuge unless one ensured it would remain hidden。
Dusting a few specks and smears of the flying vermin from his nimble hands； Gromph moved to the section of the room containing an extensive collection of wizard's tools。 Humming； he selected a spiral…carved ebony staff from a wyvern's…foot stand； an onyx…studded iron amulet from its velvet…lined box； and a wickedly curved athame from a rack of similar ritual knives。 He sniffed several ceramic pots of incense before finally senotlecting； as he often did； the essence of black lotus。
As he murmured an invocation to the Abyssal powers and lit a brazen censor with the tame little flame he could conjure at will； he hesitated。 To his surprise； he found himself wondering if he truly wanted to proceed。
Menzoberranzan was in desperate straits； even though most of her citinotzens hadn't yet realized it。 In Gromph's place； many another wizard would embrace the situation as an unparalleled opportunity to enhance his own power； but the Archmage saw deeper。 The city had experienced too many shocks and setbacks in recent years。 Another upheaval could cripple or even destroy it； and he didn't fancy life in a Menzoberranzan that was merely a broken mockery of its former glory。 Nor did he see himself as a homeless wanderer begging sanctuary and employment from the indiffernotent rulers of some foreign realm。 He had resolved to correct the current problem； not exploit it。
Except I am about to exploit it in at least a limited way； aren't I？ He thought。 Give in to temptation and seize the advantage； even if so doing further destabilizes the already precarious status quo。
Gromph snorted his momentary and uncharacteristic misgivings away。 The drow were children of chaos…of paradox； contradiction； and perhaps even perversity。 It was the source of their strength。 So yes； curse it； why not walk in two opposite directions at the same time？ When would he get annotother chance to so alter his circumstances？
He moved to one of the plex pentacles inlaid in gold on the marble floor and traced the tip of the black staff along its curves and angles； sealnoting it。 That done； he swept the athame in ritual passes and chanted a rhyme that returned to its own beginning like a serpent swallowing its tail。 The cloying sweetness of black lotus hung in the air； and he could feel the narcotic vapors lifting his consciousness into a state of almost painful connotcentration and lucidity。
He lost all track of time； had no idea whether he'd been reciting for ten minutes or an hour； but the moment finally came when he