“No,” she said, shaking her head as she changed her mind. “Go back to Sorcere. Use your powers to find your safe room in Q’Xorlarrin. Check in on Matron Mother Zeerith.”
“Collect her plea for help, you mean.”
Matron Mother Baenre grinned. She walked from the balcony and pointedly shut the door behind her, letting Gromph know that he should be gone immediately, through magical means.
“Glad I am to see you, cousins,” Ravel said to Faelas and Jaemas when the two appeared, quite unexpectedly, in the audience chamber of House Do’Urden.
“You have demons at your gate, cousin,” Faelas said.
“The archmage supposed that you might welcome our help,” Jaemas added.
“More than at our gate,” Saribel said, entering the room. “The bottom floor is thick with manes, and chasme have gained the balcony."
“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked.
“Hopefully being chopped into mounds of sludge by the axe-wielding balgura that commands the manes,” Saribel said, hardly hiding her sneer. “Dear cousin, High Priestess, she is the matron mother of your House,” Jaemas dared to say, his impertinence drawing wide eyes from the astounded Saribel.
The woman stuttered a few times, as if futilely trying to fashion a response. “Rid this place of demons,” she ordered, and stormed back out of the room.
Ravel considered his older cousins carefully. These two were no minor wizards. Both were Masters of Sorcere, and had been for decades- Jaemas since before the onset of the Spellplague. Most accountings had Jaemas third on the list of successors to the position of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, with Faelas closely behind. Only Tsabrak and Brack’thal had been thought of more highly among the House Xorlarrin cadre of powerful wizards, and then only Tsabrak, when the Spellplague had taken most of poor Brack’thal’s mind.
Still, for a male of any standing, short of the archmage himself, to speak to a high priestess in such a manner, openly, was quite shocking to Ravel. “Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked Ravel.
“In her chambers, as always, other than her jaunts to sit at the council table when High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre comes to fetch her."
“Show us,” said Faelas.
Ravel turned a puzzled expression on the younger of the masters.
“We have demons inside the compound. .”
“Inside the house,” Faelas corrected. “So take us to the Matron Darthiir.” The trio moved along the corridors, walking calmly while drow warriors rushed to and fro. Ravel took careful note of the House guard here, suspecting correctly that those warriors associated with the city’s Second House might well be seeking to avoid the fight.
He had no doubt that Barrison Del’Armgo had quietly arranged for this battle.
The corridor leading to the matron mother’s room was strangely empty, but not quiet, as sounds of battle could be heard behind the central, ornate door.
Ravel stopped with surprise, but Jaemas grunted and cursed and rushed ahead, Faelas close behind. As they neared the door, there came a thunderous retort. The doors flew open, and a host of manes came flying out, crashing onto the floor, where they lay twitching and smoking, melting away. A flying chasme demon, a gigantic ugly housefly, sputtered out the open doors, trailing smoke as it crashed hard into the opposite wall.
It, too, fell to the floor and there died.
The wizards turned the corner, eyes wide with surprise-and none were more surprised than Ravel, when he, too, glanced in upon Matron Darthiir Do’Urden, battling ferociously, her metallic quarterstaff spinning gracefully in her hands, darting left and right and swatting aside the demon manes.
In desperate battle had Dahlia found clarity. The worms writhing inside her head could not distract her now, not with demons clawing at her from every angle. Kozah’s Needle was her salvation, building another charge as Dahlia sent it prodding hard into the chest of a manes, then swung it about and tapped it hard on the floor, then broke it into a tri-staff and launched it into an overhead twirl, smacking aside another chasme.
All of her focus stayed on that remarkable weapon, breaking it through its myriad motions and combinations. It was a staff, a tri-staff, bo sticks, flails, at her command and with the subtle workings of her skilled fingers. And she used all of her weapons and repertoire, for in that demanded focus, Dahlia found mental clarity and kept the writhing worms of confusion at bay.
A lightning bolt shocked her, sizzling out to her left and dropping a line of manes.
She noted the drow at the door, noted the second wizard in his spellcasting, and noted his angle.
His lightning bolt shot in as well, to the other side, destroying some manes, but before it could plow through as had the first, Dahlia’s magnificent weapon prodded near it and gobbled up the bolt.
Now she felt the power of the lightning within Kozah’s Needle, and she sent it forth with renewed enthusiasm. She worked it out to the left, then left again, inviting those manes pressing her from the right to push in, clawed fingers reaching for her.
Across came Kozah’s Needle, slamming the two, and Dahlia let free some of the lightning energy, the blast lifting the manes from the floor, throwing them up and back, right over the next in line.
Jaemas and Faelas gawked.
Ravel’s lightning bolt followed, dropping another line of the least demons, and once again swallowed up by Dahlia’s hungry weapon.
Without hesitating, Dahlia rushed forward, leaped into the middle of the pack, and stamped her weapon on the floor, releasing the energy in a mighty circular electrical blast that hurled the manes aside, far from her, where they became easy targets for the three drow wizards with their magic missiles and gouts of flames, and were quickly, summarily destroyed.
Dahlia stood there, then, breathing hard, trying to hold on to the clarity as the worms writhed once more.
“The weapon,” she heard the one called Ravel explain to the others.
“These demons were allowed in here,” said one of the others.
“To destroy your matron mother,” said the other.
And they kept talking, but Dahlia was falling away once more. She felt the drow grab her by the arms and usher her away, still talking amongst themselves, but now seeming far, far distant.
Matron Mother Mez’Barris Armgo was not happy as the reports began to filter out of the Do’Urden compound. Not at all. The fight had ended, all the attacking demons destroyed, banished, or driven from the scene.
Marilith was about the place now, stalking the grounds with her contingent of lesser guards. And so, Mez’Barris understood, Archmage Gromph was not far behind.
And the most recent report indicated that Matron Mother Baenre was there too, along with that wretched Sos’Umptu and all the priestesses of the Fane of the Goddess-indeed, those very priestesses had banished many of the demons sent against house Do’Urden.
Worst of all, Matron Darthiir had escaped unharmed. The iblith abomination lived, and would sit again at the table of the Ruling Council.
“Let me go and slay Marilith once more!” Malagdorl grumbled at Mez’Barris’s side.
“Shut up,” she replied without even bothering to turn and regard him, and in a tone that had even the impetuous and prideful weapons master swallowing hard.
Mez’Barris knew that she had to regroup and quickly. Her alliance-the other noble matron mothers who had agreed to go after House Do’Urden- would not be reconstituted. For all their efforts and plotting, only a handful of Do’Urden House guards had been slain-and half of those had been low-ranking warriors Mez’Barris’s own House had provided.
But Matron Darthiir, this Dahlia creature, had survived.
Terondarg Del’Armgo, one of Mez’Barris’s most capable scouts, rushed back into the room, and on her nod, ran up to her and began conversing with her secretly, shielding his hands with his wide cloak and flashing the matron mother the information in sign language.