This isn’t working, he thought. We’re split in two, fighting two dangerous enemies.
They needed to regroup and focus on one foe or the other, or abandon the field all together and try again later. Presuming, of course, that the denizens of Myth Drannor allowed them to retreat at all. More than likely, they’d all die here, surrounded and overwhelmed by endless hordes of bloodthirsty demons. Quenthel and Valas were likely dead already.
Enough, Ryld snarled to himself. We didn’t come all this way to be defeated here!
He redoubled his attack, stepped inside the big devil’s reach, and drove Splitter’s point through the creature’s scaly neck. It flailed violently at him, but it was dying, and its convulsions gouged stone and clawed at the air instead of mauling Ryld. The weapons master leaped over the creature’s body to engage the smaller barbed devils already moving toward him.
Jezz rejoined the fray, pulling out a scroll from his belt and hurriedly reading off an abjuration that blasted several of the lesser devils back to whatever infernal realm they had crawled out of.
Two more instantly replaced their banished comrades.
“We have to move!” the Jaelre cried. “The beholder is our enemy. The devils are just a distraction!”
Ryld grimaced again. If they tried to flee, they’d be pulled down from behind. Still, he started backing his way toward the door leading to the beholder, praying that the creature was not in a position to see them. He gave ground grudgingly, unwilling to blunder into another fight while one still raged.
To his surprise, one of the devils on the other side of the chamber dropped out of view, and another one shrieked as a serpent-headed scourge sank its fangs into the back of its neck. Struggling through the ranks of the devils, Valas and Quenthel limped into sight. The scout supported the badly injured priestess, warding her side with one of his kukris while she lashed and flailed with her deadly scourge.
Danifae and Ryld took advantage of the devils’ momentary disadvantage to press home attacks against their immediate foes. Quenthel slumped to one wall, fumbling with Halisstra’s healing wand at her side, while Valas drew his second knife and darted into the fray, slashing and stabbing the devils from behind.
“Hurry!” Quenthel gasped. “A pit fiend and a dozen more devils are just behind us.”
Ryld cut down another of the barbed devils, while Danifae splattered the brains of a second across the chamber wall with a twohanded blow of her morningstar. In the space of a few moments, the dark elves cleared the room of devils. Jezz produced another scroll and quickly read off a spell, sealing the doorway behind Quenthel and Valas with a crackling sheet of sparking yellow energy.
“That will only hold the creature for a moment,” he cautioned.
The Baenre looked around the chamber. The fall in the shaft must have hurt her badly. Blood caked the side of her head, and her eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. One arm hung limp at her side, but she held herself upright.
“Where’s the beholder,” she asked, “Pharaun, and Jeggred?”
Ryld jerked his head at the archway behind him. Another spell rumbled through the air.
“Back there somewhere,” he said. “The beholder—”
He was interrupted by the sudden, sickening awareness of an overwhelming presence approaching Jezz’s barrier, something unseen that seemed to shake the very stones of the tower with its footfalls.
“The pit fiend comes,” Danifae reported, panting for breath, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Go,” Quenthel said, waving them forward with her good arm.
Without another word, the dark elves scrambled for the other exit, plunging into the next room heedless of the spells that thundered and crawled in the space beyond.
Triel Baenre stood on a high bridge of House Baenre, gazing toward Narbondel. The creeping ring of radiance that slowly climbed the mighty stone column marked the passage of time in Menzoberranzan. The glow stood near the pillar’s upper end, which meant that the day would soon be done. Not for the first time it struck her as ironic that a race that had been driven from the world of light almost ten thousand years in the past would have the slightest use for marking the passage of days and nights in the manner of the surface folk, when the night was eternal and changeless in the Underdark, but it had proven somewhat useful over the years to remember the endless march of unseen days in the world above. It helped in dealing with those who had more use for the custom, such as merchants who brought a few of the surface’s more exotic and desirable goods down to the City of the Spider Queen.
Not that many of those had visited Menzoberranzan of late. War was hard on commerce.
The other question that came to Triel’s mind as she looked out over Narbondel and the city below was somewhat less abstract: Who would be coming in an hour or two to cast the spells that renewed Narbondel’s fiery ring? The office of archmage still belonged to her brother Gromph, missing for more than a tenday, but the Masters of Sorcere would not permit the high seat to remain empty for much longer. She’d learned that several of the more ambitious masters already maneuvered for the post. Doubtless Pharaun Mizzrym would have been among them if he had remained in the city, but the errand to Ched Nasad had fortunately removed the hero of the hour from Menzoberranzan at the very moment that he might have put his fame to its best use. She turned her head slightly and spoke over her shoulder to the loyal Baenre guards who stood a respectful distance behind her.
“Send for Nauzhror,” she said. “Tell him I desire his counsel on a matter of some importance. He may attend me in the chapel.”
Triel made her way to the great temple of Lolth that lay in the center of House Baenre’s Great Mound, her attention far from her surroundings as she contemplated the multiplicity of troubles that had descended over the city in the past few months. She was almost grateful to the duergar for providing her with a cause to which she could rally the Council, and through them the dozens of lesser Houses that comprised Menzoberranzan’s strength. A victory in the tunnels south of the city would do much to restore House Baenre’s preeminence.
On the other hand, another setback could be disastrous. Even if Baenre remained the wealthiest and most powerful House, the Council might see fit to remove House Baenre as the First House. None of them alone, perhaps not even any two of them together, could hope to defeat House Baenre, but what if all seven of the other Houses on the Council agreed that it was time to pull down the strongest among them?
“Lolth preserve us,” Triel muttered, and shivered with true fear.
In terms of numbers of troops, magical might, and sheer wealth, the other Houses had always possessed the wherewithal to destroy House Baenre if they chose to unite against the First House. What they had never possessed was the blessing of the goddess for an act of such impropriety. If the Spider Queen returned her attention to Menzoberranzan and destroyed the Second through the Eighth Houses for their presumption the day after they obliterated House Baenre, well, Baenre would hardly be helped by it. Without Lolth’s wrath to deter the ambitions of the other great Houses, a unified attack against Baenre seemed more like an inevitability than a possibility.
The trick, mused Triel, is to keep the other Houses from settling thorny issues such as who would be First House after Baenre’s fall, and tempt some of the smaller Houses with the places of the larger ones.
If Houses such as Xorlarrin or Agrach Dyrr could be convinced that they would advance with more certainty by supporting Baenre against a conspiracy of Barrison Del’Armgo and Faen Tlabbar than they would by turning against the First House, then House Baenre could withstand almost any threat from its lesser neighbors.
She paused at the door to the chapel, examining the notion with acute distaste. Could she really feel that House Baenre needed allies? The old Matron Baenre had not governed with anyone’s consent. She had ruled the city because she was so strong no one could contemplate resisting her will.
Triel scowled and gestured at the chapel guards, who pulled open th
e doors and bowed before her.
Her sister Sos’Umptu awaited her in the chapel. Sos’Umptu had Quenthel’s height, but took after Triel’s thoughtful reserve as opposed to the willfulness of Quenthel or her unlamented sister Bladen’Kerst. Sos’Umptu possessed a calculated, deliberate maliciousness that she kept in careful check, never picking a feud she could not win. She briefly lowered her eyes, the minimal gesture of respect Triel’s position demanded, then straightened.
“Any news from the army, eldest sister?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Not as yet. Zal’therra tells me that Mez’Barris has dispatched a small force to go ahead and seize a strategic pass in the path of the duergar army, which seems sensible enough. The rest of the Army of the Black Spider follows as fast as it may.”
“It is a difficult situation. I wonder if perhaps you should have led the army in person.”
Triel frowned. She was not accustomed to having her actions openly scrutinized by anyone, but if she couldn’t survive the criticism of her family, how could she hope to cow the other matrons?
“Given the unusual situation,” Triel replied, “I felt it wisest to remain close to the city.”
“Perhaps. The problem is simple, of course—if the army is defeated, the blame will naturally attach to you. If the army triumphs, you have made a hero of Mez’Barris Del’Armgo.”
“As well as Zal’therra and Andzrel,” Triel pointed out. “I admit I have more to lose than to gain, but I will not second-guess myself now.”
She studied the chapel, gazing up at the great magical image depicting the Queen of Spiders. While Sos’Umptu watched, Triel performed a perfunctory obeisance.
“You have not observed the goddess’s rites as closely as you might over the last few tendays,” Sos’Umptu said.
The goddess has not observed us for far longer, Triel found herself thinking.
She hurriedly thrust the blasphemous thought from her mind, horrified that something so irreverent could ferment in her head. She maintained her outward calm with the ease of long practice, returning her attention to her sister.
“We are confronted by yet another challenge,” Triel said. “The Masters of Sorcere clamor for Gromph’s replacement. House Baenre has placed archmages on Sorcere’s throne as we liked for many hundreds of years, but this time, I am weighing the value of supporting the candidate of another House for the position. It might be . . . expedient.”
Sos’Umptu’s eyes widened by the thickness of a blade, and she said, “You seek my counsel?”
“As Gromph has absented himself, and Quenthel is far away, I find that the children of my formidable mother are in short supply. Very few females—and even fewer males—understand the lessons Mother taught us.” Triel snorted in irritation. “Not even all our siblings, for that matter. Bladen’Kerst understood nothing but strength and cruelty, and Vendes was simply murderous. I have need of a sharp mind, a subtle mind, trained by my mother, and it occurs to me that I have allowed you to lurk in this chapel far too long.” Triel moved a half-step closer and hardened her expression. “Understand that you advise me at my pleasure, and do not mistake consideration for indecision. I will brook no questioning of my right to rule.”
Sos’Umptu nodded and said, “Very well. I think we should presume that Gromph has been killed. He would not have lightly abandoned his duties, and there are at least two reasons someone might have killed him. Either someone wanted to strike against the archmage himself, or someone wanted to strike against the leading wizard of House Baenre. If the former, well, whomever becomes archmage next will either be the culprit, or the next target. Why should we hurry to place a Baenre wizard weaker than Gromph into that position, when there is at least some chance we might lose whomever we promote?”
“I don’t like the idea of surrendering such an important post to another family, but I like the idea of losing another skilled wizard even less,” Triel mused. “Especially when we might forge a stronger tie with another House by allowing them to advance their candidate, who would then become the target of whatever power was strong enough to destroy Gromph.”
“I don’t understand,” Sos’Umptu replied. “You seek allies?”
“It occurs to me that we might do well to ally ourselves with a great House of middle rank, perhaps two,” said Triel. “It seems a sound precaution against any effort by the Second or Third Houses to rally the rest in common cause against us.”
Sos’Umptu stroked her chin and said, “You believe matters have become as dangerous as that? Mother would never have agreed to such a thing.”
“Mother lived in a different time,” Triel said. “Do not compare me to her again.”
Triel fixed her eyes on her sister until the priestess dropped her gaze. Sos’Umptu was clever, but not strong. If she joined forces with Quenthel, or maybe a cabal of the more capable cousins such as Zal’therra, she would be a threat to Triel, but until then she could be trusted—within reason.
“What if Gromph’s assassination was an attack on House Baenre,” Triel asked, “and not simply a means to open the post of archmage?”
“In that case, we would be well advised to raise another Baenre wizard over Sorcere. Failing to do so would make us seem weak, and if the other Houses perceive us as vulnerable, they might be tempted to try the very thing you fear.”
“Your advice does not provide me much comfort, Sos’Umptu,” Triel grated. “And I am concerned, not afraid.”
“There is another possibility,” Sos’Umptu said. “Delay. Maintain that Gromph is still Archmage of Menzoberranzan for as long as possible. For that matter, spread the story that you have sent him off on a special mission and he will not be back for a while. The longer we delay, the more likely it is that events will make the circumstances of his disappearance clearer. If the Army of the Black Spider finds victory in the tunnels to the south, then your position might be strengthened enough that you can do as you will with the archmage’s post.”
Triel nodded. It was a sound piece of advice. Though she hated to admit that if Lolth continued to refuse her spells she might face a challenge for the leadership of the House, it didn’t hurt her to begin strengthening her own ties to Sos’Umptu. She might need all the sisters she could get.
The door to the chapel creaked open, and a plump male dressed in elegant black robes entered. He resembled nothing so much as a housecat that had been fed too much, satisfied with his own superiority. Nauzhror Baenre was Triel’s first cousin once removed, the son of one of her mother’s nieces. His familiar, a hairy spider as well fed as the wizard himself, perched on Nauzhror’s shoulder. He was accounted a Master of Sorcere, the only Baenre so recognized other than old Gromph himself, and was reputed to be an abjurer of some skill. Younger than Gromph, he had a habit of maintaining an insouciant smirk that made it hard to gauge what he was thinking. Try as she might, Triel could not imagine him wearing the robes of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.
“You sent for me, Matron Mother?”
“I am going to make it known,” Triel said, “that my brother Gromph is engaged in a mission of great importance and secrecy, and will return to resume his duties as Archmage of Menzoberranzan in due time. In the meantime, I am going to allow the Masters of Sorcere to designate a substitute to attend to the responsibilities of the position. You will support the best candidate from either House Xorlarrin or Agrach Dyrr.”
Nauzhror’s smirk failed him.
“M-matron Mother,” he stammered. “I . . . I had thought that perhaps I should assume the—”
“Are you Gromph’s equal, Nauzhror?” Triel asked.
The abjurer might have been soft in appearance, but his eyes betrayed a hard and calculating mind—and a pragmatic one, as well.
“Were I the archmage’s equal, Matron Mother, I would have challenged him for his title already.” He thought for a moment, reaching up to stroke the spider that sat on his shoulder. “In time I expect to equal and perhaps surpass his skill, but I must study the Art for
many years before I can call myself his peer.”
“As I thought. Consider this, then,” Triel said. “Whomever engineered Gromph’s disappearance will most likely make short work of you if you presumed to call yourself Archmage of Menzoberranzan. The day may come when you realize your ambition, cousin, but that day is not today.”
Nauzhror did not hesitate to incline his head and reply, “Yes, Matron Mother. I will do as you command.”
“You are now acting House Wizard of House Baenre, Nauzhror. If it turns out that my brother is no more, you will hold the position in earnest, but for now I have need of your spells and counsel. Settle your affairs in Sorcere for the time being. I will have your personal effects brought here.”
Nauzhror genuflected and said, “I thank you for your confidence in my abilities, Matron Mother.”
“My confidence in your abilities extends exactly this far, cousin: Do not get killed,” said Triel. “As of this moment, any male with the least aptitude for wizardry in House Baenre is yours to train. We need a cadre of skilled arcanists to equal those fielded by Del’Armgo or Xorlarrin.”
“Such a collection of talent cannot be produced overnight, Matron Mother. It will be the work of years to match Xorlarrin’s strength in wizardry.”
“Then it is a work best begun immediately.”
Triel studied the corpulent wizard and found herself hoping against hope that her House’s future did not rest in his oily hands.
“There is one thing more, Nauzhror,” she said as the wizard stepped away. “Consider it your first duty as House Wizard.” Triel moved close and fixed her eyes on his, daring him to smile into her face. “You will find out what has happened to my brother.”
Ryld barreled through a short, curving corridor, Jezz and Valas at his heels. Danifae helped Quenthel to stagger along behind them. The weapons master followed the corridor back to his right, and emerged into a large hall or ballroom of some kind. The beholder mage drifted there, a hulking monstrosity in the form of a chitincovered orb six feet across, its ten eyestalks writhing as it hurled spell after spell at Pharaun and Jeggred. The wizard stood encased in a globe of magical energy, some kind of defensive spell that protected him while he dueled spell-for-spell with the monster. Jeggred stood immobile, his face locked into a needle-fanged grimace as he struggled to throw off the influence of some baneful spell or another.
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 104
